I nearly fell headfirst down the stairs, losing my balance after tripping over one of Mason’s dogs.

I expected him to come after me, but he never did. I had to have run through his entire lower level at least twice, finding nothing but door after door that refused to open. My bare feet echoed off the black and white marble floor.

Once I was back in the large open foyer, I went straight for the front door, as if it had magically unlocked in the midst of me running around like a chicken with my head torn off. The knob turned, but the stupid thing didn’t budge. There was an empty space on the wall in the kitchen where the phone should have been.

I couldn’t get kidnapped by a regular creep; life decided to gift me with Patrick Bateman reincarnated. Only much better looking.

 “You’re not going to get out. I have the security system set to prevent that. Did you think I’d let you get away from me?”

Whirling around, I spotted Mason on the stairs. His three shepherds were lined up behind him, as if waiting for a command.

“I wish you would calm down, Katie. I’m not going to kill you. Necrophilia isn’t my thing.”

Ignoring him, I darted back through the drawing room, crying out when my hip smashed into a round side table.

I didn’t know the layout of his home well enough to know where to go. I wasn’t even sure what I was running from. I wasn’t afraid of Mason; I was afraid of how I felt about him.

How could I be so attached to a man I just met? After what he just did? I repulsed myself. I wish life had a pause button like a remote control. I just wanted everything to stop, so I could think clearly for once.

I zipped through various rooms loaded with large furniture, each one of them oozing wealth. I had just turned another corner when a strong arm came around my waist, stopping me in my tracks.

Mason hoisted me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing, carrying me back towards the foyer. I hung upside down, twisting and turning.

“Calm down.” He smacked my butt hard enough to leave a stinging sensation when his hand fell away. A small yelp slipped out, and I went still. The robe had fallen almost completely open by this point; I fought to control my breathing, dangling over his shoulder like a limp noodle.

He carried me back to the bedroom, shooing his dogs off and using his foot to shut the door. I was tossed down on the bed, landing on all fours. He shoved my face into the mattress, ignoring my screams.

“Get off me!” Pushing myself up onto all fours, I barely turned my head before his hand was tangled in my hair and shoving me back down. For whatever reason, I noticed how clean he was now.

“I would never touch you with the filth of another woman on me,” he responded to my unspoken thought, pulling the robe from my body. The sound of his zipper going down was the encore for what came next.

My legs were nudged apart with his knee; he cupped my sex with one hand for less than a second before replacing it with the bulbous head of his cock.

“Your pussy is dripping wet. You feel it, don’t you?” he taunted, running his length up and down my slit. Of course I felt it. My body was sore from the night before, but something inside me was begging for more.

How did I go from working at a vintage diner to living a B grade horror film? I told myself count to ten and barely made it to two before I was flat on my stomach with him inside me.

“You’re beautiful,” he soughed.

“Mason.” Gripping the sheets, I half-moaned, half-screamed his name into the mattress from the harsh intrusion. Just like before, he gave me no time to adjust.

He wrapped my hair around his fist and rocked into me, burying himself balls deep. I could hear how sopping wet I was every time he thrust.

I was overflowing with him in every way. He was in me – stretching me. Making me feel everything. It hurt and felt like heaven at the same time. 

All the old memories and thoughts in my head were wiped out and replaced with nothing but him at that moment. Every thrust reminded me I was at his mercy.

When he snaked a hand between us to rub my clit, I was coming with a soundless scream in a matter of seconds.

“Stop,” I gasped, fighting to get out from beneath him. It was too much; he was too much for me to handle. When his hand left my hair, I thought he was going to give me a reprieve.

Instead, he gripped me painfully hard by the back of the neck, shoving me down more forcefully. I heard his other hand hit the headboard to brace himself.

“But we just got started,” he sighed.

Every time I told him he was hurting me, he hurt me a little more. If I fought back, he got a little rougher.

I wore myself out and gave in to him. There was something inside me waking up, something that enjoyed the way it burned when his grip was too tight, and the bruises he left behind that proved this was real.